


Three Times Loki Scared You (and One Time You Scared Him)

by kaeorin



Series: Stark Tower: Avengers Drabbles [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Panic Attacks, Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loki has developed a taste for the things your body does when you’re startled. One day, he gets more than he’s expecting.





	Three Times Loki Scared You (and One Time You Scared Him)

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW THE TITLE FOLLOWS A CLICHE TITLE CONVENTION FROM THE EARLY 2000S. I didn't really partake in that trend when it was happening and I got tired of only giving my stories stupid one-word titles so HERE WE ARE DON'T @ ME.
> 
> (Actually you can @ me if you want; I'm desperate for attention of pretty much any kind......)

Midgardians were so easy to startle.

It was perhaps one of the things that Loki had come to appreciate most about being here. With how fluidly and silently he moved, it was easy to sneak up behind someone and startle them. The two super-soldiers were a little bit trickier than the rest, and he didn’t much relish the thought of being on the receiving end of their anger, but he could do it, if he wanted to and if there was just enough background noise.

The rest of the team’s reactions tended to vary. Wanda had once blasted him in the chest with a ball of red-hot energy that made him think he was dying. Stark nearly leapt out of his skin each time, but he always got so angry afterwards that Loki didn’t like to repeat the process too often. He did steer clear of Barton and Banner, though: the former out of some kind of remorse for what he’d done to him with the sceptre, and the latter because...well, Banner was exceedingly in-control of his other side, but Loki did not relish meeting him again anyway.

Truth be told, you were his favorite. The others were still on-edge around him, and suspicious. Not you. You had been the first one to let down your guard around him. The first few times he’d startled you—by accident—you hadn’t lashed out at him in retaliation. Instead, your cheeks had gone a lovely shade of pink and you’d laughed nervously, sheepishly. You didn’t automatically blame him for sneaking around, even though maybe you should have.

He liked the sounds you made each time you suddenly realized he was there. Once, he’d crept up behind you while you sat on the couch watching something on the television. He’d stood behind you for a long time, and you didn’t notice. Finally, he’d bent forward to rest his chin on the back of the couch, close enough that he could smell your shampoo. You smelled warm, and clean, and intoxicating. He’d closed his eyes to take you in, careful not to breathe too deeply and give himself away. Of course, that was when you’d finally noticed. You went stiff and sucked in a sharp gasp before you apparently realized who it was. The sound still haunted him, and he couldn’t quite explain why. You were normally so under-control, so reserved. To hear you make any kind of noise without intending to, that was a rare thing. 

He’d turned his head to look at you. He’d fully expected you to smack him, or at least reach up to push him away, but you hadn’t. You’d only gone that charming shade of pink before covering your face with your hands. He’d really wanted to reach out and pull your hands away, so he could look at you, but he’d kept a tight hold on the back of the couch.

“Loki,” you’d said with a breathy laugh. “I didn’t know you were there.” You hadn’t sounded angry at all. If anything, there seemed to be a note of pleasant surprise in your tone.

He’d spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about the way you’d said his name.

***

Time went on. He tried not to frighten you on purpose too often, but he treasured your reactions too much to give them up entirely. There was also something rather...dear about you. You hummed to yourself while you waited for water to boil for your tea. You mumbled things under your breath: sometimes details about your upcoming missions, sometimes things you wanted to remember, sometimes, oddly enough, a list of the states in the US and their capitals. When you were hard at work on something, you twirled your hair around your finger. Something about that damn near drove him to distraction, and it got to the point where he had to force himself to find other things to do so he didn’t simply allow himself to stare at you when you were working.

He’d startled you by accident, once, in the hallway in the middle of the night. He’d been wandering, as he often did when the Tower was dark and still, when he heard bare feet padding towards him. He’d pressed himself against the wall. Romanoff was especially dangerous at this time of night: he’d crossed her path only a few weeks prior and found himself pinned to the floor with his arm twisted up behind his back before she even apparently realized what she was doing. 

But then you rounded the corner, sleepily rubbing your eyes. Make no mistake: he’d watched you training. You could just about hold your own with either of the super-soldiers. No matter how soft and unassuming the profile you put forth, clad in what could only be your pyjamas, he knew that you were every bit as deadly as everyone else on the team. So he didn’t reach out to touch you as you approached, and instead chose to clear his throat quietly. 

You froze in your tracks, adopting a defensive position as a matter of habit. Almost as quickly as you had, however, you seemed to realize who he was, and dropped your fists. “You scared me,” you said with another embarrassed laugh, and reached up to smooth down your hair. 

“That was not my intention,” he murmured. And it hadn’t been—at least not that time. He could just make out the sound of your heart drumming quickly in your chest. Perhaps he could thank his Asgardian senses for that, along with the quiet that had fallen around the Tower. For only the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to imagine what your pulse would feel like against his lips if he moved closer and bent to kiss your throat. Dizzily, he wondered if you’d even let him do such a thing, or if you’d finally snap and knock him to the ground. He swallowed and looked away. “Are you alright?”

You pressed your hand to your forehead and laughed again, though this time there was an air of dismissiveness to the sound. “I’m fine! I just wasn’t paying attention. I fight monsters alongside Captain America and Black Widow, you’d think I’d be a little more aware of my surroundings.” 

“If you can’t be off-guard at home, where can you be?” Truth be told, he did feel a little twinge of guilt. Clearly you felt comfortable here, and safe, but he was taking advantage of that because he liked your reactions. He looked back at you again just in time to catch the face you’d made, and...well, Loki of Asgard was not the type to use the word “adorable”, but…

You shrugged. “You’re sweet, but I’d really appreciate it if you could keep these kinds of things to yourself. I really don’t need anyone else thinking I don’t belong here.” You had attempted one of your usual, sunny smiles, but it hadn’t quite reached your eyes. Loki felt his eyebrows knit together and stepped forward.

“Has someone said that to you?” To you, of all people? He had yet to go on many actual missions with you, but on the few that he had, you were astounding. There was hardly a role you could not fill—stealth, distraction, combat: you slipped into each one as though it were what you’d been born for. He stepped a little closer, reaching out to you for—for what? He didn’t even know. It took him off guard, how angry the notion of you not belonging here made him. He let his hands drop to his sides before he could make contact.

Your eyes went wide, but you didn’t respond. It was hard for him to read your expression. Finally, though, you drew in a breath and shook your head, a faint smile creeping across your face. You patted his chest gently as you moved past him in the hallway. “I’m still half-asleep. I’m just going to get some water, and then I’m heading back to bed. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.” Your smile widened a bit, and though the goofiness in your expression made him want to smile back, there was something like dull panic in your eyes. Someone else might know the right thing to say here. Old Midgardian myths made him out to be eloquent and wise, but something about the look on your face made his tongue feel heavy. 

Your hand was still resting against his chest. When he reached up to cover it with his own, your skin felt chilled. Before he could really think about it, he pulled your hand up to his mouth to breathe warm air on you, and by the time he realized what he’d done, it was too late to stop. Thankfully, you didn’t seem overly put off. You didn’t jerk your hand away or gasp or try to hit him. Instead, you let him finish what he was doing, your smile relaxing to something softer and less panicked. When he released you, you smoothed your hair down one more time and nodded at him. You had wished him a good night and then disappeared into the kitchen. He’d spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling in his room and thinking about how your hands really had no business being as soft as they were.

***

It had been a few weeks since he’d last startled you—accidentally _or_ on purpose. You’d only just returned from an extended mission the night before, and, quite frankly, it was a lovely surprise to see you in the kitchen at all. He’d hovered in the doorway for a moment, taking you in. You were leaning against the counter next to the stove as you waited for the kettle to boil. You weren’t humming to yourself this time, but your quiet litany of states-and-capitals did make its way to his ears. Your back was to the door. You were none the wiser. Something told him that he really should tap against the doorframe, clear his throat, do _something_ to make you aware of his presence, but instead he crept closer. 

The kettle began to shriek, and you reacted immediately, grabbing it and pouring it into a mug that must have been sitting in front of you on the counter. He waited for you to put the kettle down, but then reached out to touch the small of your back. He didn’t expect you to react the way you did. He thought you’d flinch, maybe swear, then turn around and maybe push him away from you with that little laugh you did.

The second he made contact with your back, he felt you recoil from his hand, slamming yourself against the counter. At the same time, you swore under your breath, but your voice was almost unrecognizable. There was no sheepishness in the sound. Instead, the words seemed to come from somewhere deep inside of you, and were colored with a dread that actually made his stomach clench. You sounded terrified. He took several large steps away from you, hands in the air to show you that he meant no harm. You spun around quickly, as he would have expected. All of the color had drained from your face. Your eyes were like saucers. He watched them dart around the room, taking him in while still giving off the uncomfortable notion that you weren’t actually recognizing him.

“It’s just me,” he said, rather pointlessly. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” And he hadn’t. He took no pleasure in this. In fact, it was making him rethink his penchant for making you jump.

“I know,” you whispered. Your voice sounded stronger than the rest of you looked right now. You swore again and turned to face the counter. You reached to pick up your mug, but then apparently abandoned that idea, and spun around again. “I’m sorry, this isn’t you, I swear. I just—” You pushed yourself off the counter then, looking for all the world like you meant to stride out of the kitchen, but your stride was odd. Dizzy. Lurching. Loki watched uncertainly, but he didn’t have time to dither about whether he should put his hands on you again. He got to your side just as your legs collapsed under you, and only barely managed to guide you carefully to the floor.

He could hear your heart pounding. Hell, he was fairly certain that _Stark_ could hear your heart pounding all the way down in his lab. What in the nine realms was going on? “Should I call someone?” 

“No!” You all but shouted it at him, clutching at his hands as though to keep him there with you. Your skin was cold and, despite how tightly you held him, he could feel the way you trembled. “Don’t call anyone. This is stupid. It’s nothing.” 

Sure, it was nothing. Your chest heaved with every hard-fought breath, but it was nothing. He shifted under your touch, and you yanked your hands away, instead curling them protectively around your body. You were mumbling to yourself again, possibly that same list of states and capitals, but they sounded jumbled, mixed-up. Suddenly, he wished he’d paid more attention to the list so he could help you put them straight again. After a few moments, you apparently gave up and fell deathly silent except for your choking gasps. Whatever was happening to you, it gave no signs of letting up. He chafed his hands along your upper arms. Were you cold? Were you overheated? What was he supposed to do? For the first time in a long time, he wished Thor were here. 

“I need—” As though you’d read his mind, you started to speak, but then cut yourself off almost immediately with a derisive laugh. He ducked down a bit to try to see your face. Your eyes were screwed shut, and you were still deathly pale. “Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry. I need you to talk to me. I don’t care what. I just...I’m freaking out and I need something to distract me.”

So he talked. Mostly he spoke of Asgard, of his mother, of the palace corridors and courtyards. There were flowers that could only grow in his mother’s glass gardens, flowers that people here could only dream of. He described them to you in detail, never quite sure how much you were actually hearing. You did stop breathing so heavily. Over time, the worst of...whatever this was, it passed. You still kept your arms tightly wrapped around yourself, and you were still trembling, but you started to respond to what he was saying. It was almost like a normal conversation, except for the ordeal of the whole episode, which dangled above you like a blade.

After a particularly rousing story about Thor’s exploits as a youngster, which had you laughing into your hands, you finally drew in a long, even breath and let it out with an embarrassed groan. Some of the tension drained from your body. Acting on instinct, he reached out to touch your shoulder, and you did not flinch.

“What _was_ that?” he asked incredulously. “What happened?”

You remained silent for so long that he almost thought you hadn’t heard him. Just as he was trying to decide whether to repeat the question or just drop it, you finally began to speak. “My brain—or...just, human brains, or just _some_ human brains, I don’t know—goes haywire sometimes. Something stupid just happens and my body is suddenly convinced that I’m going to die even when I’m just standing in the kitchen or something.” You covered your face with your hands again, and this time Loki didn’t stop himself from pulling them away. After all that, maybe he just needed to see you. He tucked your hands between his, partly for warmth and partly for whatever comfort he could offer you. “This last mission was a bad one. I’ve been wonky like this for the past three days. I could have gotten people killed.”

Wonky. Such a silly word for something like this. He had watched you demolish enemies in battle, seen you training practically to the point of collapse. And this had sent you to the floor. He tightened his grip on your hands. “You’re alright now. Everyone’s fine.” he said. It seemed to be true, anyway. 

You shrugged and ducked your head. Your hair fell over your shoulder, blocking some of your face from his view. He wanted to reach out and brush it out of the way, but he also couldn’t blame you for wanting to hide. Maybe he was just lucky you hadn’t wrenched yourself away from him and fled the room. “Anyway,” you said after a long pause. Your voice was a little too bright. It didn’t take Asgardian senses to realize that you were desperately trying to appear normal again. You gave a self-deprecating laugh and tried, but not very hard, to pull your hands away. He didn’t let go. “I’m sorry I freaked out like that. I think I’m okay again. Or okayish.”

Loki was not typically one to apologize, or at least not to do it sincerely. As far as he was concerned, he was who he was, and he did what he did, and when he did something to hurt or offend someone, that was something for that person to deal with. But sitting here on the floor with you, feeling the way you fought to hide the way your body still trembled, hearing you try to laugh it off and apologize to _him_ for your reaction, he had to. He brought your hands to his mouth and blew warmth breath against your skin, the way he had in the hallway that night. “I think it is _I_ who should be sorry.” He started to explain his motivations, but when he really thought about how to put into words his affection for the sounds you made, your heartbeat, the color in your cheeks, it all just seemed a little too daunting, so he closed his mouth instead.

“You didn’t do anything,” you said. You sounded for all the world as though you believed what you were saying. He didn’t want to think about how you’d react if you knew. “Like I said, I’ve been on the edge for the last three days. I hoped some tea would help, but I could feel it coming while the water was boiling. Maybe you made it happen sooner, but it was coming.”

You kept your voice low, but that did little to disguise the anxiety that still colored your words. Loki was no stranger to that feeling, that sickness, but that didn’t mean he was pleased to hear it in your soft voice. Without thinking about it, he pressed his lips to the back of your hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet, almost spiced scent of your skin. Only moments later, he realized what he’d done, and loosened his grip a bit, so you could pull away if you wanted to. Except you didn’t. 

When he looked at you again, you were already watching him with a hazy expression. Your lips had parted slightly, and though your color still wasn’t quite right, he did watch as your cheeks grew rosy. Now was not really the right time for thoughts like this, his conscious mind was screaming, but there was something in your expression that told him there might be another way he could make your heart race. He felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards.

You had yet to look away.


End file.
